Come On, Get Higher
by CWprodigy
Summary: First One-shot: Alex Cabot never liked waiting rooms. Series of unconnected one-shots highlighting the friendship of Alex and George.


…

Alex Cabot wasn't good in waiting rooms. But it seems like she's was always in them. The ones with bad coffee and jumping legs and people who are quiet and people who are crying and small children too young to understand what's going on. In hospital waiting rooms, she's never found any comfort. She watches the people around her move and shift in front of her hazy eyes. Olivia and Elliot are there, erect against the wall and staring at nothing but she still feels alone. There is only her and her aching head and her tired eyes and all the other people, singular or huddled in groups, waiting for their hopes to be either realized or destroyed.

The lights are harsh, illuminating gaunt faces and bloodied clothes. Every now and then, a nurse comes in; voice a careful blend of sympathetic and detached, and calls out names. Beady eyes shuffle to others, some offered words of encouragement as people were led away.

When she'd gotten the call, it was a little over two AM. The red, digital letters on her alarm clock were blurry and undefined by her sudden rebirth into consciousness. She remembers Olivia's words, clipped and erratic tumbling over the phone lines. All she'd gotten was that he'd been taken to Bethesda. Nothing else.

Now she sits in a pair of faded jeans and her alma mater sweatshirt, hair wispy and tied in a quick ponytail and barely taking in Olivia's words.

"He's gonna be okay Alex," she's saying. Elliot stands behind her, nodding his agreement.

The words sound hollow but Alex couldn't fault them for trying. It seems as though the only person that can make those words stick is lying in a hospital bed.

"That's the thing Olivia," she replies and releases a long, slow exhale. "He's always okay, even when he's not."

She knows they would want her to explain but she doesn't want to. She doesn't want to explain how the man is selfless, how others always take his concern away from himself. She doesn't want to explain it, how he guards his emotions while getting people to spill their own. She shouldn't have to.

Cragen enters after a few moments of silence, mouth set in a firm line. He looks like he needs a cup of the cheap coffee Olivia and Elliot had helped themselves to nearly half an hour before he walked in.

"What do we know?" he asks, demands really.

"So far nothing," Elliot answers, running a large hand over his forehead, through his thinning hair. "The ambulance got here before us. They won't let us in."

A few more people shuffle in, a small Hispanic family. A woman is crying. Everyone else is silent. A nurse walks in. It's a different one than before. Alex thinks, offhandedly, that they must be changing shifts. She wonders what time it is, how long she's been sitting there praying to something she can't identify.

"George Huang," The nurse says and her voice is thick. She clears her throat and says, louder, "Family of George Huang."

Alex rises without thought. She's the closest thing to family he has and knows she's listed as his emergency contact. She can hear the others shuffle into motion behind her but she's only focused on the short nurse with kind green eyes and tanned skin.

"You here for the doc?" She asks, voice low and slightly sad.

Alex nods and forces her words out. Her throat feels dry. "Yes, I'm his emergency contact. I'd like to see him."

The nurse nods at her to follow and says "only two at a time," and Olivia falls into step. She's only slightly surprised that she does this, but she figures it's better than Elliot.

The nurse leads them past rooms and windows and nurses' stations, past patients and doctors all trying to save lives and get their lives saved. It's hectic for such a late night. Phones ring insistently.

"What exactly happened to him?" Olivia asks and Alex almost forgot she was there. The nurse half-turns, green eyes flashing.

"The EMTs picked him up in a parking garage not too far from your precinct. He was barely conscious, looked roughed up. He asked them to call his Captain and someone named," she stops, turns to the blonde, "Alex. That's you isn't it?"

She stops, momentarily startled, but nods not sure what to do with the information. A gentle push and she's walking again. The nurse continues,

"When he came in, he was unconscious, several contusions. He had a few scrapes presumably from where he hit the ground. He was also dehydrated. We gave him an IV, and some X-rays. No broken bones and no serious fractures. His wrist might be tender for a few days."

Olivia is scribbling it all onto a small notepad. "Can you tell us what exactly happened?"

The nurse shook her head and stopped in front of a door with the blinds closed. "That's something you'll have to ask him."

The ADA stares at the door. The heartbeat thrums in her ears and she realizes that for the first time since getting the call she's afraid. It's real now, she realizes, he's really lying in a hospital bed and she's on the outside looking in and wondering just how it happened.

"Alex," Olivia's voice is hushed, low, with a compassion that only serves to annoy the attorney. It feels not exactly forced, not even insincere, just synthetic. Maybe it's because Olivia spends her days feeling nothing but compassion and sympathy for others. Alex doesn't like feeling like a job.

"I think I should go in alone," she says and goes in before anyone can respond.

The room is silent aside from the heart monitor. It's colder; the air feels still. George is lying in the bed, mouth parted, hair a disheveled mess falling over his eyes. His skin looks almost tan against the stark white sheets and his hospital gown it too big. It makes him look like a child. Her eyes rove over him; taking in the purple bruise on his neck and wondering how many more are covered. He shifts a bit when she lowers herself into the chair next to his bed, nervously thumbing his IV drip.

"George," she says, quietly, more to herself than anything. "Why do things like this always happen to you? What is it about you that says, 'attack me'? "

"Bad luck, perhaps," George answers, startling her. His voice is rough. He blinks at her, opening his eyes fully. "Hey."

"Hey," she repeats and smiles despite herself. "How do you feel?"

He looks at her carefully and sits up in his bed. "I'm fine Alex, really."

"Don't do that."

He frowns. "Do what?"

"Pretend to be okay when you're not," she says and sits at the corner of the thin mattress. "You know you don't have to do that with me."

"I know that," he insists. She doesn't look convinced. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair trying to right it. "Okay, I don't like being here. I'm tired. Everything hurts especially my head and my wrist. When I woke up I tried to leave and it got so bad they had to sedate me."

"A doctor that doesn't like hospitals?" she asks, smiling wryly.

"I just want to go home Alex," George says quietly, fiddling with the IV like he wants to rip it out. She places a hand over his. And suddenly he's looking at her with his wide brown eyes and bruised body like she's his only hope in the world, and she doesn't know what to do in this moment of rare vulnerability.

Very slowly, as if giving him the option to retreat, she lays down on the bed with him. He seems puzzled but not entirely confused, like he knows what she's trying to do but doesn't quite now why she's doing it.

"If they sedated you, why aren't you asleep?" she asks. There isn't much room on the bed and he carefully turns to look at her, face level with her neck.

"I was before you walked in." His voice is quiet now, tinged with medically induced fatigue. "It was only mild sedation anyway, mixed with something for the pain."

She nods, staring at the ceiling. She knows they don't have long, that any moment Olivia or a nurse could burst in. What would Olivia think if they saw them like this? Did she know George was gay? Her thoughts are coming slower and less defined.

"I'm sorry I worried you," he says and she snorts. George smiles and for a moment, he's unguarded in a way she rarely sees.

"George," Alex says lightly, "You're my best friend, but I swear if you're anymore altruistic I'm going to punch you, previously acquired injuries be dammed. You're hurt, we're friends. I'm going to worry. So shut up and go to sleep before Olivia barges in and swears we're lovers."

He laughs and smirks, settling himself further into the bed in compliance. It isn't long before the drugs and his own fatigue make him succumb to slumber and everything's silent, blessedly silent.

The white noise that's been throbbing behind her eardrums since she'd been awakened is slowly dissipating, leaving her with an empty yet content feeling. His body is warm next to hers, his breaths comforting, the heart monitor steady.

Alex closes her tired eyes and allows herself to breath again, if only until Olivia opens the door and shatters the little nugget of peace. If only for a fleeting moment.

…

A/N: Reviews and critiques are appreciated.


End file.
